“You must be tired, mademoiselle,” said Lord Lydstone, coming up to the piano.  “Surely you would like a little refreshment?  Let me take you to the tea-room,” and, offering his arm, he led her away, despite his mother’s black looks and frowns of displeasure.

“Lydstone is so impulsive,” she whispered to the first confidant she could find.  It was Colonel Wilders, one of the family—­a poor relation, in fact, commonly called by them “Cousin Bill”—­a hale, hearty, middle-aged man, with grey hair he was not ashamed of, but erect and vigorous, with a soldierly air.  “I wish he would not advertise himself with such a person in this way.”

“A monstrously handsome person!” cried the blunt soldier, evidently cordially endorsing Lord Lydstone’s taste.

“That’s not the question, Colonel Wilders; it was not my son’s place to take her to the tea-room, and I am much annoyed.  Will you, to oblige me, go and tell Lydstone I want to speak to him?”

Cousin Bill, docile and obsequious, hurried off to execute her ladyship’s commission.  He found the pair chatting pleasantly together in a corner of the deserted tea-room, and delivered his message.

“Oh, bother!” cried Lord Lydstone undutifully.  “What can mother want with me?”

“You had better go to her,” said the colonel, who was a little afraid of his cousin, the female head of the house.  “I will take your place here—­that is to say, if mademoiselle will permit me.”

“Madame,” corrected Lord Lydstone, who had been already put right himself.  “Let me introduce you.  Madame Cyprienne—­my cousin, Colonel Wilders, of the Royal Rangers.  I hope we shall hear you sing again to-night, unless you are too tired.”

“I shall do whatever miladi wishes,” said Madame Cyprienne, in a deep but musical voice, with a slight foreign accent.  “It is for her to command, me to obey.  She has been very kind, you know,” she went on to Colonel Wilders, who had taken Lydstone’s seat by her side.  “But for her I should have starved.”

“Dear me! how sad,” said the colonel.  “Was it so bad as that?  How did it happen.  Was M. Cyprienne unlucky?”

She did not answer; and the colonel, wondering, looked up, to find her fine eyes filled with tears.

“How stupid of me!  What an idiot I am!  Of course, your husband is—­”

She pointed to her black dress, edged with crape, but said nothing.

“Yes, yes!  I quite understand.  Pray forgive me,” stammered the colonel, and there followed an awkward pause.

“Mine is a sad story,” she said at length, in a sorrowful tone.  “I was left suddenly alone, unprotected, without resources, in this strange country—­to fight my own battle, to earn a crust of bread by my own exertions, or starve.”

“Dear, dear!” said the colonel, his sympathies fully aroused.

“I should have starved, but for Lady Essendine.  She heard of me.  I was trying to dispose of some lace—­some very old Spanish point.  You are a judge of lace, monsieur?”